


Living with Regret of the Chance Not Taken

by Wintercameandwent



Series: Living with Regret of the Chance Not Taken [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Betrayal, Bittersweet, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Consequences, F/M, Jon Snow's Name is Jaehaerys, Light Angst, Not Beta Read, Not Really Character Death, POV Lyanna Stark, POV Rhaegar Targaryen, Post-Canon Fix-It, Prophecy, Rhaella Targaryen Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintercameandwent/pseuds/Wintercameandwent
Summary: Living with regret can change you in ways you could not imagine. What would life be like for Rhaegar if he was victorious against the Usurper's Rebellion. What if Lyanna survived birthing the third-head of the dragon? What if Elia's path took her away from the madness of Rhaegar and Lyanna's choices?
Relationships: Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Series: Living with Regret of the Chance Not Taken [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591549
Comments: 64
Kudos: 173
Collections: Southern Renaissance (Dorne Renaissance)





	1. The Queen of Love and Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> I am in the middle of some pretty bad writer's block and in total avoidance of completing my other fic, sooooooo...
> 
> 1\. I need to get the juices going I wrote this, and  
> 2\. I need to feel like I've completed something.
> 
> This story has been ruminating for a while, and now its out of my head. 
> 
> Remember readers...be constructive, and remember this story might be up you alley, or not. That's absolutely fine. If it's not for you feel free to move on quietly. I'm sure the story you are looking for is out there just waiting for you to find it. 
> 
> Also, this isn't a bashing fic, but more like a what-if. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and/or the world they inhabit.

Lyanna Targaryen watches as her husband leaves. Every year he locks himself away, and allows himself this one day to privately mourn… _her_ , their children, and perhaps lament the error of his ways. He will be gone until midday tomorrow...as he is known to do. This day holds only significance to them, for it is the day that he left his first family to come to her...it was the day he could have made another choice...one that could have saved them. She turns away, the burn in her eyes a familiar feeling she can’t seem to escape.

As she takes a long walk she thinks about her life. Three sons. _Twenty years with this man and I have birthed him three sons_ , she thinks. Jaehaerys, Aemon, and Daeron. They carry the look of the North. Dark hair, gray eyes, and solidly built. The blood of Old Valyria might reside within them, but it is not clearly seen, not like it can be seen in her husband, good-mother, or Viserys and Daenerys. While Targaryen in name, all I see are the brothers that are forever lost to me, Brandon, Ned, and Benjen...some in death and others by choice.

As she stands overlooking the training yard, she observes her sons in various acts of fighting. They are good. Very good. The oldest and heir at nineteen, Jaehaerys has a sword hand that may rival Ser Arthur Dayne. Of her three children, Jaehaerys behaves more like his father...a quiet young man always heavy with thoughts that never seem to depart from his mind. He carries on his consciousness the events that led up to his existence and the subsequent effects, and does not allow himself the opportunity to lay that blame solely at his parents feet. 

While two years younger, Aemon shows promise to be deadly with a warhammer. Try as she will it does not slip her notice that her own son is gifted with a talent for the same weapon her former betrothed was once known for...oh, Robert, she privately grieves. Regret and guilt slices her heart and the conscious that seemed to have grown after she learned to put away foolish ideas of what she thought it meant to be a woman grown. This son is a fighter, but what he is battling she does not know, nor does she think he’s aware. When he is not fighting, she has learned of his newfound proclivities with the ladies that are employed at Petyr Baelish’s establishment. At this rate my son may follow in footsteps not quite yet his own. Roberts...or Rhaegar’s.

Her youngest, Daeron is sixteen, and he enjoys the thrill of hand to hand combat. He has more than his fair share of the famed Stark wolf blood. It is him she fears for the most. He is headstrong...impulsive to her mind, though she knows he sees himself as always correct to his way of thinking. She sees too much of her and Rhaegar in his one child. Though a child he no longer is, and there lies the potential ruin, the ramification he may not be ready to assume responsibility for. But as she learned after her own foolishness died away, the effects of such willful blindness will still occur and remain, and there may be nothing one can do to repair the damage once it is done.

The young Targaryen brothers called out to their mother and she nods in acknowledgement, a forced smile gracing her face. Like their mother, she knows her sons are aware of the day, and what it means for both parents. The King’s absence is noticeable, and so is the reason why. This day just shines an already bright light on Lyanna and the contributions her actions served in her husband’s absences. 

It is not attention she can hide from, but the years have “lessen” the abrasive harshness of it all, but the stigma never goes away. It is a part of the reality she had to acknowledge once she learned that the war was over, for living their lives in the ruins of it all was what she and Rhaegar deserved. 

Death would have been too kind to them...she does not think they deserved it...Gods only know her Father, brother, and all the people who lost their lives because she thought she was “more” than what everyone thought her to be, didn’t get to live. It was a hard lesson learned, but she finally learned what it meant to do your duty. Living in the hell that was her marriage...this life that she helped to create, was her duty.

Lyanna walks towards the old family wing of the Keep, a section unused for two decades. She stops outside the doors of the old nursery. Her eyes observing the gleam in the wood...a chamber her own children never used, nor Princess Daenerys. She raises her hand to touch the door, but stops, for she knows that _this_ is not her place. _This was his...and only his._

After Rhaegar defeated Robert he came directly for her. Birthing Jaehaerys almost killed her, but she survived, even if she knew they had not succeeded in having a girl. She will never forget the light in his countenance when he saw her resting in bed with their babe at her breast, she was so happy to see him alive even though her naive heart ached for the loss of her family...and consequences the kingdom suffered through. Stupid chit. Rhaegar held her, kissed her, stirring feelings inside of her that should be dormant after having a babe, and when he asked about the health of our _“daughter”_ I saw the immediate dimness when he realized our expected daughter was a son. 

Rhaegar tried to school his expression in a return to a joyful one, but she had already seen his disappointment. Till this day she could hear him speaking to Arthur when he thought she was asleep, his voice laced with confusion… “ Lyanna should have birthed a girl. I have two heads already...my Elia has given me Rhaenys and Aegon. Where is my Visenya? Something is not right, Arthur. I think we need to go to Kings Landing post haste. We leave in two days…”

At the time she thought she heard the worst of what would come forth from her husband's lips, but she was wrong. So very wrong…

The crying, the horror, the rage that followed when he learned that Elia and the children had perished was unlike no other sound she ever heard. Her own mourning cry when she learned of her father and brother was haunting, but it could not hold a candle to his. Her heart shattered at the sound. The children she could understand, for all the mechanics of how she and Rhaegar came to love one another and the destiny she once thought she played a role in, the love for his two living children was ever present. 

It was how he grieved for “her” that rotted away the unstable ground their love stood upon. It was then that she saw his hesitancy to speak of his wife, when he wrote to Lyanna, for what it was. She now began to understand why he would address how Elia would react to their upcoming union in general terms. When he once told her, “I am...fond...of Elia…”, what she heard was I care for her as we were made to marry, but what he meant was though I want you enough to hurt her, I do love my wife...and I do not wish to speak on it any further.

It was a brutal introduction to decoding the meaning of her husband’s words. Understanding Rhaegar was something she thought she knew...wasn’t that what made them connect in the first place...her ability to understand him. In all his complexity, Rhaegar was a man who had the responsibility of being a Prince and eventually a King thrusted upon him, while preparing for a prophecy he did not want but knew he must plan for. It was this battle between duty, want, and destiny that brought them together. 

She was once a young woman...a girl, really, who was expected to marry a man she did not love nor respect. Lyanna thought she was different from other girls…she was Northern, but her father insisted on a Southeron marriage. She wasn’t averse to marriage, she was willing to accept a man she could respect enough that perhaps love could follow, a man who understood how important her northern identity was to her...that man was not Robert Baratheon. 

Lyanna found such an awareness in Rhaegar, or so she thought, and it was with that willful blindness of her youth, she ignored the voices that told her to look away from Rhaegar...he was already a husband...a father. Wasn’t he what she foresaw Robert to be? She could not bring herself to fulfill her duty in the face of insurmountable want of her Prince, and once he told her of the prophecy...of the Visenya...she knew she was the woman to help fulfill that task, and there she thought destiny opened the door to justify her shameful behavior.

She now stands before Elia’s old chambers. Once again she notices how the wood shines. No one lives in this hall any longer. Rhaegar forbids the use of the rooms, sealing them in time memorial. 

There has been one time she entered these chambers, it had been two years after they returned to Kings Landing, and till this day she’ll never forget how it looks. The canopy bed was untouched, the Targaryen colors seen in the tapestry and bedding. An orange night shift, in the Dornish fashion, laid at the foot of the bed. A shawl draped over the chaise. A vanity with beautiful jeweled colored bottles that contained delightful scents. A dressing room filled with colorful clothes that matched the bottles. A chest with her most treasured possessions which she secretly brought from Dorne, and hid from the Mad King, a chest Rhaegar had commissioned for her. 

The final item of note was her husband, sitting hunched over, his arms resting on his knees, eyes red-rimmed and vacant, as he stared at a gown he held in one hand and drank a Dornish red from another. She remembers his voice was torn and jagged to her ears as he spoke to her. “I do not give you leave to be here. Every other day I am yours. Is that not enough? Can you not grant her and I this? By Gods Lyanna, it is just one day. All I ask is for this one day.”

Tears sprang forth from her eyes, she ran away as fast as her feet could take her, blindly looking for a way to find shelter from prying eyes. She entered a solar she thought to be her own, but it was her good-mother, Rhaella’s chambers. 

The woman while, respectful, never warmed to her son’s young second wife, and whatever close affection she once held for her son wavered when she discover he ran away with Lyanna and it died the day she learned of Elia and the children’s deaths. Another natural consequence, forcing her and Rhaegar to be a support for one another…them against the realm. The only problem with that thought is that they were broken and the last thing they wanted or needed at that time was each other. Nevertheless, Lyanna found herself grateful that Rhaella was able to find affection for the children of their union.

As she tried to gracefully excuse herself, Rhaella excused her ladies-in-waiting, and sat Lyanna down with a handkerchief in hand. 

“I can see you are upset, Lyanna. You do a much better job of keeping such emotions contained. What has you so...unraveled?”

“Rhaegar. He is…” she breaks into another bout of tears when she envisions his voice once again...those words…

“He is what? Share the issue, Lyanna, and let’s be done with it.” Rhaella’s voice was gentle, but firm.

“I went to find him. He was in her chambers. He spoke to me like I am the sole cause of his loss. I do not push him away when I grieve the loss of my family. Yet he mourns in private, and he should not. I am here. Jaehaerys is here. This babe I carry, our daughter, will be here. We cannot undo what we have wrought, I know this...but all I sense behind his smiles and affection is his regret...of me.” She sobbed, while trying to control her tears.

“Hmmmm...and what if he does occasionally regret the choice to pursue you. Can you honestly say you have not felt deep regret at what your choices brought for your father, your brother, your House, your people? Is there no part of you that wishes you could undo the choices you and my son made if it meant bringing back those you love?”

Lyanna nods, “But I love him…” her voice cracked.

Rhaella’s silver brow arches in dismay. “Yes, you love him and he loves you and a realm bled for it. He lost what he so blindly could not see, until it was no longer there. Now he must undertake the heavy load that newfound awareness brings. There is nothing to be done for it not. Be grateful he allows it to consume him only one day a year, rather than soaking in such knowledge on a daily basis. That is your reality, Lyanna. Do your duty towards it.”

“What is?”

“Open your eyes Lyanna. Don’t continue to be foolish. You’ve been progressing so well in being more astute.” Her good-mother admonished her.

Lyanna just stared at the woman, stubbornly refusing to voice what she knew deep in her heart. While others could see it...Gods know she could once the clouds had lifted, Rhaegar discovered what he hadn’t really understood or defined for himself...for if he had Lyanna does not think he would have courted her.

“He loved her. Deeply...and he lost her.” Lyanna forced herself to say the thing she dreaded most.

The older woman nodded her head, her own broken-heartedness at the forefront. “Rhaegar didn’t just lose her, Lyanna. His selfish actions caused him to lose her _and their children._ Their loss was by his own design, and for what I ask. I say this not to offend, though offense will be taken...how could it not. There was no daughter. There have been no threats from beyond the wall. I lost my other grandchildren for naught. He lost his children. We lost what were once living people, children we adored, a woman we profoundly cared for, souls that meant something to us...and we lost them for nothing Lyanna. While I do love my grandson, his existence and the birth of this new child does nothing to erase that. This is what I cannot forgive my son for, and it warms my chilled heart that he recognizes his folly too.”

“I lost too. Rhaegar is not singular in this.” She countered, unable to meet Rhaella’s eyes.

“No, he is not. You are right, Dear. But you made a choice, your brother made a choice, your father made a choice, for they had another path they could have taken. Elia and the children had no choice. I think the _if onlys_ are harder to find when there are no other options to be had. Guilt haunts you a but heavier, don’t you think?”

That was the last time she ever spoke about what was quietly known as Rhaegar Targaryen’s day of mourning. As she steps out of her recollection she sees the door of a woman who must have hated her...hated how Lyanna took her husband’s love away from her leaving her vulnerable to danger. The whore who led her husband astray from their marriage vows. The public humiliation and the private barrage of self-doubts. 

No matter how kind and gentle she was, Elia was a woman with a woman’s feelings, and not a girl in the rush of first love. No, Elia was a woman grown who loved her husband...of that Lyanna now knows. But it took her becoming a grown woman, with a woman’s heart to see what was evidently clear to the rest of the realm. 

Now Lyanna tries not to hate the woman who took her Rhaegar away...the young prince who courted her so long ago, with his words, songs, a belief in destined fate. Though if she is to place blame for the loss of her Rhaegar, she must accept a part in that. 

Lyanna walks to the throne room for it is time for her to attend to the audiences who are there today. The illusion that was cultivated when they were together in the Tower of Joy of being bonded, a unit, broke once Rhaegar became King. The realm was still bleeding and they needed a King.

Aerys was gone, died by his own hand with the aid of wildfire. Tywin Lannister was caught in a plot to take the capital, but Dorne’s army had arrived...to protect their Princess and the children, but they were too late. Tywin lost his head for this treason, Stannis was sent to the Wall, Young Renly was a ward of the crown while Jon Connington cared for Storms End until Renly could take the lordship. 

Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn lost their lives in battle, their heirs serving as wards of the Tyrell’s and Hightower’s. Ned was made the new Lord of Winterfell and had married Catelyn Tully, but his sons all had to be fostered in the Crownlands and the Stormlands.

And Dorne...another rebellion almost began when the Martell’s realized that they lost their sister and her children. Almost, but not, for Rhaegar return Dorne’s sovereignty. It was a war they realm could not fight, and in her husband’s guilt he thought it the only thing he could do to serve as an apology for how he treated the Dornish alliance. 

In the midst of all of this, she had given birth to a babe, married her King on the heels of him losing his first wife...a ceremony she could tell he did not want to participate in, but he needed Jaehaerys legitimized...and he needed a Queen and an heir to replace the ones he recently lost. 

Stupid girl that she was, she had no idea what it meant to be a King’s wife, a politician, a mother. Lyanna had to lose large parts of herself in order to survive. Not only for herself, but for her husband, and for her children. For Rhaegar's focus was on the chaos that they created and he keep his mind on the survival of the nation. 

Two decades later and Rhaegar continues to treads carefully not to disturb the fragile peace between the realm and the Dornish. Lyanna has not seen her family, nor has she returned for a visit to the North...her presence there would apply pressure to an already strained political relationship. These limitations do not extend to her husband or their children, but Rhaegar is mindful not to push too hard.

The kingdom has...recovered...or rather it has grown and moved forward as the fractures that broke the realm fused together to create what exists now. It is not perfect, but it...functions. There are moments of great harmony, tempered with residual pains that make themselves known during inopportune times. Much like her marriage. 

The common folk eventually forgave their once beloved Prince and now they love their King but tolerate their Northern-bred Queen and her offspring. The Lords and Ladies of the realm have mixed feelings she surmised, but those that will play the game will continue to do so, regardless of how they truly feel about their monarchs. While others stay quiet and hidden until their King demands and audience with them. 

As she looks out from her seated place on the throne, splitting her attention between the person speaking to her and her own thoughts, Lyanna suffers in silence, with a serene smile on her face, as she laments the young foolish girl who knew nothing of the world and of love. 

She wonders, knowing what she knows about relationships and love...affection...care, if she had just done her duty could she have avoided the destruction that taints her current love, and found happiness with Robert or is it her destiny to always search for something else...something more...leaving damage in her wake.

_Foolish girl, the gown woman in her reprimands…_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for typo and any incoherent ramblings...lol. I'll edit those parts after a good night's sleep. 
> 
> Happy New Years!


	2. He was born in grief...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing...

Rhaegar can feel the steely gray eyes of his wife on his back as he walks towards the former family residence. One floor below his own chambers, he finds his feet taking him back to a museum dedicated to what was once his life...his first life...the one he failed to protect.

He remembers how lively this hall once was. His brother running through with his young toddling daughter trying her best to keep up with the uncle she adored. Now his brother, a man grown with a budding family of his own, rarely smiles and never speaks of the niece who would creep out of her bed and into his...he never speaks of the girl who reverently cared for a beloved black kitten named Balerion...a cat he once gifted her.

Viserys never mentions the babe who looked as a younger version of himself. The heir, truth be told, but also an unwitting audience to the fanciful stories Viserys loved to tell...of dragons, dragon riders, and quest to conquer. Nary a word about his son ever leaves his sibling’s lips.

No, his brother who is now married to woman from the Westerlands, grew into a quiet man who carries his own guilt, a guilt formed in the mind of a child that the man grown cannot seem to relinquish. Though age is a natural barrier between the brothers, the loss of Rhaegar’s children widens the divide between them.

As Rhaegar stands at the door, he can imagine he hears his daughter’s laughter. The illusion makes him cry, but he is unaware of the tears that spill forth. His heart tightens to the point that breath becomes almost impossible. Finding what is left of his strength, he tilts his head towards this friend and the head of his Kingsguard, Ser Arthur Dayne, “You may go, Arthur. I will see you tomorrow.”

Unable to see the other man’s own guilt reflected in his own eyes, the do not look at each other. “As you wish, Rhaegar.” Feeling the weight of the knight’s heavy hand on his back serves as another moment of understanding between the men, for while Rhaegar will grieve here Arthur will mourn the loss in his own way.

Waiting till Arthur has walked away, Rhaegar pushes open the door of the nursery.

To anyone who entered these rooms decades ago would recognize how very little these rooms have changed. To anyone who entered these rooms after the attempted sacking of Kings Landing would have found a vastly different room. Furniture overturned, broken and shattered, tapestry torn, and blood...the vivid wetness or the dried remains...either way the heaviness of such a stench hung in the air long after Oberyn enter these rooms looking or his niece and nephew and long after Rhaegar returned to see the last images of where his children died. 

At his mother’s urging, he had the rooms cleaned, then at his own insistence he had the furniture repaired or remade and the room put to rights. Any and all items that the servants could find that belong to his children...they could now be found in this room today.

Rhaegar moved to the chair that sat between Rhaenys’s bed and Aegon’s crib. His eyes resting on the bed where a fierce little dragon once laid. While Dornish in looks, Rhaegar can remember the feeling of holding Rhaenys for the first time, and how she fit so perfectly in the palm of his hands. She was absolutely stunning to him. Her flawlessly sun kissed complexion complemented by plentiful dark locks, and when she finally opened her eyes...they were so dark he once mistaken them for black...but they weren’t, they were such a dark purple it only appeared that way to those watching her at a glance. In joy and anger and every emotion in between he could see how the color would change. Rhaegar marveled at how many dark purple tones they were in the world, once he saw the color’s appear in his little dragon’s eyes. As she met her end, not doubt in terror and confusion, he wonders what color her eyes would have been...eye closed to him forever. 

Breathing in when he finds his body automatically search for breath, he hears the wetness in the sound...his tears mixing with a deep inhalation. Rhaegar pushes himself up to stand over the crib where he imagined his first son...his first male heir once slept. He can only imagine because when Rhaegar left Elia, he left her on Dragonstone, where Aegon had been birthed only a couple of months before...today. Rhaegar closes his eyes in an attempt to mitigate the shock of pain that radiates through him. It was only after his father had gone in search of him, that he learned that his own heir wasn’t on the island, demanding that Rhaegar’s wife and children return to the Capital. His son...a crown of silver hair much like his own, pale skin...such a delightful contrast to his sister...his mother...and his indigo eyes. What he remembers most about his young son was how heavy he felt in Rhaegar’s hands...the solid weight of such a healthy boy as he would hold him against his chest as he whispered words of prophecy...with the words that he would be there to see him and his “sisters” through the upcoming storm...he would protect them as long as he could. How he failed. Focused on prophecies and not the reality before him...his father and his rule...he took much for granted leaving the family he build with Elia at the mercies of others. In the end what Rhaegar’s children needed was protection from him.

After Jaehaerys was born, and the reality of what they returned to seeped through his false sense of invincibility, Rhaegar began to see the folly in his preoccupation with stories of destiny. He learned way too late that destiny will happen regardless of the path you choose to take...in essence you cannot make destiny. He thinks it took his wife a bit longer to understand that, for it was she who encouraged them to try for another child, that though it callous to think that perhaps the prophecy could still be true...fate just required a different family. What Rhaegar heard was this that she thought his family with Elia...his children...were not good enough so the universe self-corrected an error. 

It took many moons before Rhaegar could look at Lyanna. He was so violently angry...a feeling he never really had before, not until he lost his Elia and their children. It was Lyanna who made attempts to mend the rift between them, and in time Rhaegar had to agree with himself to move forward, but there still remains a part of him that does not forgive nor forget the harshness of her thoughts. When their second son was born, he saw a wildness of desperation take over his Northern Queen, and when their third son was born she finally caught up with Rhaegar’s understanding. They were not destined for more than the duty they were born to. A lesson most learn during their early years, and one that took the destruction of what they both held dear and near destruction of a kingdom for them to finally learn. They were not outstanding. They were not singular.

Rhaegar lowers his hand to the bedding as he flattens it against his palm. His long fingers splayed open as though he could leech any remains of his son into his body. He will spend another hour or two in these rooms before he goes to _hers_ , where he will lose whatever is left of himself. 

Having prolonged the inevitable, Rhaegar once again does a cursory check, ensuring that the nursery is just so before he opens the door. His eyes memorizing every piece of furniture, tapestry, and toy knowing this memory must hold firm in his mind until the next year. He allows him this day...only a day to wallow in his regrets and losses...for he is not owed nor does he deserve such courtesies, not considering these losses of are of his own making. Feeling confident about the picture in his mind, he exits the room, closing the door behind him...supporting his weight against the door once he hears the ‘click’ of the lock engaging. He pushes away, taking slow measured steps from the nursery to Elia’s rooms. It takes him sixty-four step between each chamber. With her smaller feet, he wonders how many more steps it would have taken for Elia to run in an attempt to save their children. 

The door offers a sense of resistance, if only for its lack of use, another reminder that Elia isn’t here...no matter what he does to try and bring her home. He takes a moment to observe the room. It’s just like he remembered. His gaze pulled to the orange shift laid across the end of the bed. As if under a witch’s spell he walks to the garment, his hands carefully lifting the delicate fabric to his nose. Rhaegar takes a deep breath, knowing that her scent is gone, but there is a faint trace...or does his conscious find ways to make him suffer the illusions that parts of her still remain to him. 

Finding a bit of a chill in the room, he starts a fire, if Elia were present she would have appreciated the gesture. As he turns away from the hearth, he could see her in his mind’s eye sitting against the pillows in the small seating area surrounding the fireplace. Her small feet tucked under her, a smile tugging at her lips, shining eyes, dressed in her house colors, with a heavy russet colored shawl draped over her slim shoulders. Her softly accented voice quietly chiding him. “My love, there is no need for you to go through such troubles. I no longer need them, and you run too hot to ever warrant such comforts.” 

Rhaegar can only stare at her. She looks as she had the day before he left Dragonstone. The scene so familiar to him. Their chambers were cooler than usually, and his Dornish sun had been cold. The birth of Aegon had her feeling weak most days, but the last fortnight she had made a turn for the best. She looked good. Her long dark hair regained its vibrancy, her eyes were bright and full of merriment as she began to feel well enough to tease him and the Kingsguard on duty. Her energy was returning, and he found her sleeping less, spending more time with Rhaenys when Aegon did not demand her attention...or him. The maester thought she would recover faster than she had with Rhaenys, but he still did not recommend another pregnancy. The news did not hurt him as much as it once had, for at that time he thought the Gods had made plans for the prophecy to continue when they put Lyanna in his sights. 

He remembers the words he spoke, finding they fit this moment still. “It is no trouble. Only dark things await us all when the sun feels the cold. I’d rather avoid that possibility...you are too important to leave to chance, my Dearest.”

Rhaegar sat on a chair looking across at the vision of his wife, a table stood beside him, a Dornish red warm and ready for consumption. He filled up a cup and drank deeply from it before setting his eyes back on Elia.

“Rhaegar you must cease this. What had come to pass cannot be undone. We are gone and we will never return. Why do you continue this tradition?”

“Does my coming bring you pain?”

“No. I don’t feel such sensations anymore, but clearly come here brings you pain...” her head tilted towards the direction of the door, her eyes moving away from the door and on him “...and her. So why continue?”

“I come Elia to remember. To ensure that I never forget what my ego...my hubris...once cost me. I come because in these rooms I can still see you...as you once were when you and the children once loved me.”

“Oh Rhaegar, you are still much loved. Especially by your Northern Queen and the family you made with her. You know this. It is quite unfair that I must be the one to remind you of this. One would think the current state of the realm would serve as a reminder of how well you love each other.” The dark eyes reprimanding him. Rhaegar finds himself lost in those depths.

He sighs deeply, a rumble in his chest as he does so. “I know Lyanna and my sons love me. I do not deny that what remains of my heart is connected tightly to them.”

“Alright then...” 

Elia’s gentle shake of her head loosened a strand of hair to fall over her eyes. He raises his hand to move the offending piece away from her eyes, allowing himself to drown in them. “But they are not you. They are not Rhaenys or Aegon. If I should stop coming, then you should stop diminishing the value you have to me.”

“I cannot stop Rhaegar because it’s not something I thought to be true when I once resided in the world of the living. Not to the degree that you speak of. That last day we spent together...you loved me and left, knowing you were going to your Northern beauty...the reason being your love...for her, for the prophecy, and eventually for the child...and you said nary a word. Oh Rhaegar...” her voice pained fades away as she shuts her eyes, shielding him from the hurt he glimpse which dwells within them. 

“I’ve exhausted all the ways I can apologize for that act. I’ve lived the remains of my life as the husband I should have been...as the Crown Prince...King...I should have been. Doing my duty and finding comfort in it, living and taking without the thought of balance...as I did with little regards to you and our people once before...it is how I honor you, but nothing will never amend what I destroyed. You...the loss of you and our children...it was nothing I could have foreseen. No, not that Rhaegar, he was blind, selfish, and removed from the consequences of his actions...until he wasn’t.”

“We all must traverse the paths set before us.” His Dornish Sun murmurs, a sad smile graces her lip.

“Yes, we must, and my path will always have you in it till my end of days, Dearest.” He shares her smile, the crowns of their heads touch as their eyes never waver from each other. 

“You might want to keep that to yourself, Love...no need for the realm to think the Mad King has returned.” 

Her playful smile returned, making his laugh as he pressed his lips against hers. “Duly noted, my Dornish Queen.”

Rhaegar sat back and watched her...his wife...the one who he took for granted, the one he did not honor in life. He watched her until all the wine was consumed, the sun descended, and the fire died, knowing he had to make the memories last another year.

In the light of the day Rhaegar could feel the pain of choosing to fall asleep in the chair, he looks over to the settee and he knows his Elia will not be there, but it doesn’t stop the hope from growing in his heart as it has every year for twenty years. He hears a firm knock at the door, a familiar sound...Arthur has returned. The Commander of the Kingsguard knows to give Rhaegar a few more moments. There is no need to knock once again. 

As Rhaegar pulls on his boots, he looks around the room. He stands and begins the walk to the door, stopping to touch the shawl and the shift one more time before he leaves. As he stands with his eyes on the room, and his hand on the knob, Rhaegar sees his Elia one more time as she lays on the bed, her bare shoulder peaking above the blanket that covers the body he knows to be naked underneath, her beautiful face serene, a small smile on her face, her thick hair resting against the pillow. Before him is the last image he has of his wife, right before he walked out of their door on that fateful day changing his life forever. 

A foreboding feeling ripples over Rhaegar, as he wonders how his life will change once he walks away from her once again.


	3. The Rising Sun of Dorne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Elia Martell pulled the leaves off of the lemon she just pulled off from the tree before her. She breaks the leaf, letting the oil break through releasing a fresh burst of lemon. A scent she has become very accustomed to in the last twenty years she has lived in Lemonwood, under the protection of its Lord, Ser Deziel Dalt...and her brothers, the oldest being The Prince of Dorne. 

Over the years she has found that a peace that seemed to elude her for as long as she could remember. The worst of the chaos that defined her former life as Princess Elia Targaryen, reached its pinnacle when Lord Tywin breached the castle and set his men to murder her and her children. If it wasn’t for her brothers concern to break rank and come to her aid, then she would be dead now. If it wasn’t for the young Jaime Lannister suspicion of the number of Lannister soldiers in and around the Keep, then she wouldn’t have been poised to try to escape on her own. 

In the end it all came together to ensure that she and her children survived that night. If she closes her eyes she can bring herself to the castle on that fateful night. Her good-father screaming to “burn it all...” Jaime running into her room just as she was pulling the hood of Rhaenys’s cloak over her head. Her daughter in a deep sleep as Elia placed poppy in her nightly glass of milk. She hated having to, but she didn’t know if they would survive...and if they hadn’t at least her daughter wouldn’t be awake through it all. 

The young knight looked harried, “My Princess we must go, the castle is falling and the King has set his chamber on fire.”

“Take Rhaenys.” She calls out as she picks up her sleeping son, another child who has consumed the milk as well. 

Elia followed the Lannister as he led her into room that held hidden passages, and tunnels. He led her to a small row boat that sat on the beach. The night sky lit with fire from the keep, the screams of people as they ran to protect themselves, the clashing of steel against steel...all in contrast to the soft waves that settled against the shore.

Putting both children in the boat, together they worked to push the sailing vessel onto the water. She jumped inside as the young man pushed them further into the water before he climbed aboard. Taking the oars, they worked together to sail out further to sea where a ship with the Dornish Sun awaited them. Her people got word to Jaime, and in turn he found a way to help save her and her children. 

In her anger and her fear, Elia made a decision for herself and for her children, and till this day she is unsure if it was the right one. She begged her brothers to fake the death of her and the children. Elia sat and planned with her brother to use her “death” as a way to regain Dornish independence. 

It took almost two moons for Rhaegar to return to Kings Landing, her brothers...even in their own anger...welcomed the opportunity for her to walk back into her old life, but when she thought of how Rhaegar brought Lyanna Stark into their marriage and how publicly he shamed her all for the woman he loved above all common sense...she thought she did not want to live in the shadow of that...no matter how much she loved him. She...and her children...would always come in last and as she had just learned that was a dangerous place to be when one plays the game of thrones. 

Lemonwood, her family, the people who knew her...they helped to bring Elia back to life for she was so broken and unrecognizable to herself after Rhaegar left her on Dragonstone. She was so ill, and not only with heartsickness...no Elia was once again with child. 

At first it was easy to conceal her pregnancy. She knew the signs having experienced them two times before. When she returned to Kings Landing she was able to secure the elixirs, from one of her closest handmaidens telling her it was for a friend who was unmarried but intending to have her child, being Dornish the young woman didn’t hesitate to honor Elia’s wishes. She need the elixirs because they served to help strengthen a woman and child as she begins to prepare for hosting another babe in her womb. She was terrified of informing her good-father, and had little access to her good-mother. Then a few months later Rhaella was sent with Viserys to Dragonstone as the Queen awaited the birth of her own child. 

She was five moons along when Jaime Lannister noticed that she had put on some weight, his comment not inappropriate as he was just mentioning how well and fit she had seemed of late considering the realm was at war and Aerys was more hateful that usual. Having no one to share her truth with, she told Ser Jaime. The young man became her trusted friend. He helped her conceal her pregnancy. It wasn't too difficult as her good-father kept her sequestered to her rooms and the nursery. It was a blessing that she carried small. How she misses him though. It has been three years since he died from a stomach illness...a cancer, the maester said. They did their best to make their valiant knight comfortable. It was the priority for her and her children that Ser Jaime Lannister left the world of the living as a man who knew he was beloved and honored, a man who may not have been surrounded around the family he was born into, but rather surrounded by a family he made.

His death was hard on them all, especially her children and for different reasons. For Rhaenys, she knew him the longest and he had been there during the most confusing times in her young life. With Aegon, he learned how to use a sword and what it meant to be a knight. As for Visenya, he is the only father-figure she has ever known. While yes her youngest knows her uncles, Ser Jaime was “theirs...hers.”

She gave birth to her daughter on the ship, amidst the sea water crashing onto the deck and the smoke drifting from Kings Landing towards the sea. All of her children born surrounded by salt and smoke. Over the years she has wondered what were the odds that Visenya would meet that requirement in the way that she did. Even when he doesn’t know it Rhaegar makes his interpretation of destiny as gospel truth. 

Picking up her basket Elia begins to walk back to the keep, she think about what ingredients she would need to make some lemon cakes, when her oldest daughter find her. 

“Good day, Mother.” Rhaenys greets her. Elia marvel at how beautiful her daughter is. Her long hair, gentle curled as it drapes down her back. Dressed in a light weight Dornish dress that allows her to remain tanned all year long. 

“How has your morning been, Sweetling?” Elia passes the basket to her eldest, as she holds her daughter’s arm as they walk.

“Well...considering.” Rhaenys dark purple eyes serves her a knowing look. 

“Already...and it’s not even noon yet.” Elia sighs. It’s been a frequent topic of discord in her usually happy home. 

“You know, while I am happy to stay in Dorne forever, you can’t expect that they do not want to see more. Look at Uncle Oberyn...he’s travel and seen the world outside of Dorne.” Rhaenys smile was kind and understanding...a girl who sees too much, Elia thinks. 

Looking to bring levity to her child in the midst of a heavy conversation she counters “Yes, and left a lovely niece in every location he has visited.” Rhaenys chuckles at her mother’s reply. 

“Are you worried Aegon and Vissy will leave a trail of bastards in their wake? Visiting the best brothels each city has to offer.” Rhaegar’s smirk graces their daughter’s lovely lips. Moments like these are when Elia is hit with how much of their father resides in them without their awareness. 

Shaking herself out of this stupor, she replies. “No. Not really. Well Aegon has trail potential, if your Uncle Oberyn could convince him to remain in such an establishment long enough to father a child, and as for Vissy, well...it takes longer for women, but if she put her mind to it...”

“Mother!” Rhaenys halts their progress as she stares at Elia with wide eyes. 

“I jest, my child. I jest.” Elia’s laughter intertwines with her daughters. 

“What concerns you Mother? We have been trained our whole lives to defend ourselves. We have been trained by the best...any and all you and my uncles could find...all of us, my siblings, cousins...we are prepared better than most to explore the world outside of Dorne.”

“I need you and you siblings to understand what the potential ramifications of leaving Dorne could mean for you. My love you could pass and no one would be the wiser, but your brother and your sister...they look...”

“Like Targaryens...”

“Yes. They do. While Vissy is darker than Aegon, she is lighter than you, but her hair and eyes.”

“She can claim Valyrian ancestry, that is not akin to being a Targaryen.”

“No, but if she is with Aegon...” Elia tries to explain once again.

“It’s because Egg looks a lot like father...” Rhaenys tries to complete Elia’s thought. 

“No Rhaenys, your brother looks exact like your father. There will be no question.” Elia sighs and she tries to settle what she know will be inevitable...her children are ready to leave her. 

“His looks have been a blessing and a curse...” Elia mutters under her breath. While painful to see, a large part of Elia loved that Aegon looked like his father. While she will never trust his with her ever again, Elia recognizes that there is a part of her that will always love Rhaegar...the young Crown Prince who tried to be a good husband, who learned with her what it meant to be married to another, the man who created these children with her, the one she could make laugh when heavy thoughts weighed him down. 

Once again Rhaenys stops their progress. She places basket on the ground as she places her hand on Elia’s shoulders, directing Elia to look directly at her. “Mother, you are deflecting. We are ready...I am twenty-two...almost 23, Aegon is twenty, and Vissy is nineteen. It is time for us to find our paths...eyes wide open and logic to guide us...just as you taught us.” 

Elia just looked at her daughter, taking in how much she has grown...thinking that her father’s inability to use sense and logic could have resulted in her death. Elia shakes her head in an attempt to will thoughts of Rhaegar away. How it possible to love and hate another so deeply she will never know, but her feelings towards Rhaegar are a study in such a regard. 

Elia relents for she sees the sand running out in the hourglass that has been the last twenty years, and now it is time to turn it over...time for a new phase to begin. “Seems like this is no longer ‘an asking of permission’. When do you plan to leave?” 

A war cry startles Elia, making her jump towards Rhaenys. Looking over at her two youngest, it is her daughter that made the ruckus that potentially led to them losing the only parent they remember. Finding her arms filled with her silver-haired daughter, Elia takes in the subtle differences in the way her daughters feel with she embraces them. Almost four years apart, both young women are the same height, similar in shape and form. The both look like me...the shape of my eyes, the fullness of my lips, the shape of my face, highness of my cheekbones, the thickness of my hair. Where one is dark the other is light...in hair and eyes, for Rhaenys eyes are so dark a purple they can appear black Vissy’s eyes are the same violet shade as her grandmother, Rhaella. 

Turning over to her much calmer son, his patented smile and bright gaze melted her heart...as it is known to do. “While yes the ship for permission has sailed away, we won’t plan this without you Mother. Our goal is not to hid our intentions.”

Elia pulls her son towards her. Gods how he is tall...and broad...and looks just as her husband did when they first met. But unlike the Rhaegar she once knew, Aegon is less conflicted about his lot in life. He knows how is father is, who he is to the realm, and what awareness of his survival could mean for the stability in the Six Kingdoms. He may be expected to resume his post as heir or asked to step aside for the eldest son of King Rhaegar and his Northern Queen Lyanna. All weighted knowledge for someone so young, but where his father seemed tethered to the ground Aegon just seems to have a disposition that makes him ideal for attacking any challenge that stands before him. 

Encouraging her children to continue their thoughts, she listens to their ideas without judgment, reserving her questions for the appropriate time. They had sat in the field with a basket of lemons between them. A bit of time had passed, and her fairer children needed a bit more shelter than the open sky offered. As they began to walk back to the Keep, they heard a couple of riders racing towards them. 

“My Queen!” A title the Dornish call her out of deference for her continued marriage to a King...though he is most unaware of it. “The King’s ships have been seen off the coast.”

“Doran? Did your uncle tell you of his visit?” Elia looks towards her children, each looking as perplexed as she. In his haste, she thought the man misspoke.

“No, my Queen. My apologies. Not Prince Doran, but rather, the King, your King.” The knight exclaims as he tries to control his breath.

Elia frozen, her heart seizing with the knowledge that Rhaegar was close and yet didn’t understand how he could know they were here. 

“Please take our steeds, and do as you please my Queen.” The knights climbed off their mounts while she and Aegon took off on a horse, with her daughters on the steed behind them. 

They had just arrived at the dock, when she saw the ships at least five, closer than they should be without incurring an act of war, each displaying the sigil she still sees in her nightmares...each ship proudly displaying the sails of a red three-headed dragon on a black field. Standing at the bow of the first ship, the one closest to the harbor, stood her husband...his face contorted in shock as his eyes rest on her and their children, the two he thought dead and the one he never knew to exist. 

As Elia stands before the remains of her past racing towards her present, it is only in this moment that she realizes her hiding and lying to Rhaegar was exactly what he did to her...and their reasons similar...for love...for protecting the future. As she sees the shock subsiding and in its wake cold anger, a look she never thought Rhaegar capable of, and now she wonders who is this Rhaegar coming towards her. 

Have the event from so long ago actually effected this man in any true movable way. How poorly did she miscalculate his feeling for Rhaenys and Aegon? The damn man did not care for their children as he should have. He had other children with the Queen he chose...the woman he chose over her more than once. Will the realm bleed once again? For the Targaryen before her looks poised to rain fire and blood to get what he wants...and for the first time ever, as his eyes pin her with his gaze, Elia thinks she might be someone that Rhaegar Targaryen wants. History has show that is not something one should desire.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not have plans to expand on this.
> 
> I would be curious to know how readers would foresee the long-term ending for these characters, their children, the prophecy (true or not).


End file.
